Well readers, I've said before I began as a horror writer, so here's my entry into the Halloween story contest. This piece is a culmination of some of my hardest, filthiest kinks or fevered fantasies and is one of the most bizarre pieces I've ever written. I felt I had to get it out.
I hope, in turn, you get something out of it.
He Lies in Wait
The copier whirred and beeped, leaves of hot-to-the-touch paper sliding from the mechanism and falling gracefully in the tray. A perfect example of mechanization functioning without perturbance.
Unlike the woman standing there, staring at it in a daze.
Every so often, she had to take the finished stack and place them aside in order to start the next round, but other than that, she moved little. Her body hung slack in place, almost as if she were being pulled downward by a great weight.
The mundanity of the task allowed her to drift off, and no one noticed. It was just business as usual to them. The machine kept producing.
Each time she had to move to collect her copies and stack them neatly, she flinched. They were there. No one else could see them, as she'd learned long ago, but she could. See and feel,
hear
. Sometimes they were thin and pretty, like jewelry. Not now. Right then they were thick and hideous, cold, heavy, and they created a merciless din no one could ever hear; if anyone ever did, they
never
commented on it.
Chains. Clanking, rusted lengths of twisted metal far uglier than the chains of greed worn by one Jacob Marley. They encircled her ankles and wrists, seamless, and one extremely thick noose that should (by all accounts) be impossible in steel hung from her neck as a looming threat.
The phantasmal binds kept her trapped, her gait impaired. The length from the noose trailed from her body and slithered all over the floor. Her coworkers expressed concern when she seemed to trip over nothing. As always, she awkwardly laughed them off and pretended it was all fine, just fine. Long day and all that. Nevermind that this happened like clockwork, every few weeks, when the pressure became too much.
Not her damn job or life, not even that she didn't have a boyfriend or anything...
The chains were always there, but they were manageable most of the time. They stayed small and thin, with no tail. It was only when they thickened and began to drag her down that she knew.
It was tonight. When she got home, the 'ritual' would begin.
Even as Elenore Lee punched out, gathered her things, and left work for the weekend, her mind was elsewhere. She trembled in fear, yet...
anticipation
as well. Her heart began to pound as the spectral chain led her out the door, onto the darkened streets. Decorations hung cheerfully or spookily on various establishments as she passed, and she vaguely remembered the holiday weekend.
That's right! Tomorrow was October 30th, or "Devil's Night", and Sunday was Halloween.
A time, it was believed, where spirits and monsters could slip through the cracks of the planes and come to Earth to wreak havoc, possessing, pillaging, murdering and devouring human lives.
How fitting.
Elenore drove home, her bond preceding the journey. As she followed it the length mysteriously retracted, never leaving a trail behind. It only shortened, until the moment she arrived at the place where her energy had been stamped. It was there
he'd
be waiting, as always. It did not matter where she lived or when she moved. There was no escape.
In time, she'd grown used to this. Even though it was unbearable vile agony that threatened to pitch her into an abyss of existential dread. Nothing she saw or felt in the next several hours was truly possible in reality, yet the experiences lived in her head, unfaded, for years. She always emerged unscarred, unbroken, but not
unchanged
.
And she never forgot.
His first visit had been a little more than a decade ago in her twenties, and though it had been explained to her then, it was still difficult to wrap her head around it now. Elenore's existence, apparently, was one that called forth an entity from the pits of Hell that stood apart even from his own brethren. He only appeared to the truly cursed- those made to drag a burden unbearable to most others, their souls not ever freed in death.
The reason for this? 'Balance', apparently. Light and dark existed together, and the universe needed a way to keep each of them in check... even if that meant offloading the excess into human souls. Some people radiated heavenly essences that drew others near. Others collected misfortunes like trinkets. Elenore was one of these "failsafes", and
he
was tasked with her 'keeping'.
Soon enough, she arrived at her building and parked her car in the garage.
Pausing to collect herself and calm her pounding heart, she remained frozen in the driver's seat for a minute. It was only one night. Just until the break of dawn tomorrow, and then it would be over. As always.
Out of the car then, into the building, up an elevator and out onto the fourteenth floor, she followed the chain around her throat, its length shrinking the closer she got. It only acted as a warning, and was reeled into the noose like fishing line as her doom drew her in. Her key came out, her hand shaking.
The door of apartment 1408 at 217 Stanley Street loomed just ahead, and Elenore saw the links drawing taut as she reluctantly approached. Each step dragged the bonds and tighter, harder, toward her fate. They were parallel to the floor by the time she was ready to unlock, and when the small task was done, the chain yanked up
through
the solid barrier.
The second she even began to crack the door it flew open, and the noose around her neck snapped tight. She was yanked roughly forward- right off her feet onto an unforgiving slab of a chest. The door slammed and locked behind her. Elenore trembled, barely daring to look up. She knew who- or
what
- she'd see.
Inhumanly tall. Built like a fucking brick shithouse. Blunt, ox-like features (one of those shaggy ones) complete with horns. Long, lank, black locks falling past his broad shoulders, chest and body furred with hair and slickened by sweat. She knew he wore nothing but a faded, stiff leather loincloth, one that would hardly contain the instrument of his pleasure and her terror; the damn thing was proportional and thicker than a baseball bat. More like three bound together. His skin was a marbled blue-gray, and he smelled of brimstone and smoke.
Years ago it had turned her stomach, but she'd since become accustomed to it and the odor was branded on her mind like his own personal cologne.
He'd been waiting. As always. A rush of heat collected in her belly, and her face reddened. She was actually blushing!
"Elenore..." His voice was harsh, guttural; gravel scraping together, deep enough to cause earthquakes. She did not just hear it, she
felt
it to the marrow. "I have come."
She gulped as this bestial male hoisted her by the throat with one meaty arm. Now she was in his hands, the chain's length vanished, leaving just a collar and cuffs to mark her role in this ritual. Elenore choked from the pressure on her throat as he held her off the ground, but she knew he would never let her strangle to death. Oh
no
. What would be the fun in that? How would they ever finish their courtship?
Growling a laugh, he raised his other hand, nails ragged but sharp. It took no effort to sink those unkempt, claw-like tips into her modest business casual attire and rip it straight through. The stiff fabric of her jacket was rent, popping and hissing as it gave way. The once-pristine white blouse had its buttons busted and wound up in tatters before slipping down her arms and dropping to the floor. Skirt was shucked and forgotten, shoes and hosiery disposed of in a blink. Her bra was snapped apart easily, her panties eradicated- and finally she wore nothing but her bonds.
The demon sneered, bringing his victim more fully against his bulk. Now she was naked, he delved his slimy, lithe tongue past her lips, and his thick fingers breached her tiny mortal cunt.
Elenore shrieked, the noise briefly escaping before every vocalization she could have made was smothered by the salt-copper taste of him. It was always the strangest kiss she'd ever had, but it ignited her instantly and she gave in, wrapping her arms around his neck.
The room blurred as he moved quickly to what would have been her couch, had the room not been changed to resemble an unholy nightmare of 'underworld chic'. Faint sniggers radiated from the licking flickering shadows. Ruby-red, luminous fire consumed the walls. Pentagrams filled with infernal writing and symbols were placed in key locations, and what was a sofa that morning was then more an altar of obsidian, upon which she was immediately thrown and restrained.
The demon continued his assault, his kiss ravenous and demanding, his fingers pumping, stretching, stroking,
precise
. From the crevices between flames and the dark gaps within the links of her chains, the hands of oil-black creatures crept, securing her limbs to the sacrificial bier while their cackles grew stronger. When the man-
creature
- lifted his head even briefly from stealing the breath out of her lungs, she gasped
"How many this time?" And he immediately replied:
"As many as it takes."